Lazarus
by softwars
Summary: Do you know that feeling? That feeling where it feels like everything is closing in on you, you can't seem to catch your breath, you can't seem to keep your head above the tide. That feeling like you're suffocating, you can feel your lungs withering to nothing in your chest, everything seems to be slipping through your fingers like water.
1. Chapter 1

Do you know that feeling? That feeling where it feels like everything is closing in on you, you can't seem to catch your breath, you can't seem to keep your head above the tide. That feeling like you're suffocating, you can feel your lungs withering to nothing in your chest, everything seems to be slipping through your fingers like water. You can feel your life spiraling out of control but it seems surreal, it feels like you're watching it all happen behind a television screen, this can't be real, it can't really be happening. You do nothing because you don't know what to do or how to stop it all from happening. You feel scraped empty, hallow. You look back on your crises of a bad math test from a month ago and you scoff, you laugh and you cry because it could never compare to what you feel now, to where you are now. You dream of going back to that moment and cherishing the concern in your mothers voice as she scolds you. You commit the color of her eyes to memory, the way her calloused hand strokes your cheek, her eyes stern as she tells you not to let it happen again. You remember the sound of your best friends laughter and you almost lose your last shred of sanity, you remember the smell of his cologne, too strong in attempt to impress some silly girl. You beg and you scream, you want it all back, you would kill for the life you once had, the life that shattered before your eyes in what seemed like mere moments.

However god, god isn't listening to your prayers, they fall on deaf ears, your screams and your cries, no one hears them. You pull yourself together, the broken pieces of your heart rattle with each painful beat. Your lungs sear and burn with each breath you take. You find you wake up one morning and existing doesn't hurt as much, living day to day isn't as hard. Nothing is good, not by any means, but bearable, things are bearable.


	2. Chapter 2

I sit, once again, at a club i hate ( secret: i hate all clubs ), stumbling drunks and the suffocating smell of perfume and vomit. It continues to assault my senses throughout the evening, i can almost _taste_ it. I come alone this time, Simon, my right hand man is most often in tow, however i couldn't bring myself to drag him along again. He would give me that look of sadness- of pity he tries to hide, fraying, peaking out like threads, i couldn't do it again. The beat of the music is something living- breathing- pulsing in my veins, it's about the only thing i like about this place ( secret: i wish they chose better dj's and better music. ).

My life is so painfully ordinary, so leached of real vitality, a grape left to bake in the sun, shriveled, black, bitter. Constantly i am on the cusp of dropping out of school, wiping the last smeared, smudge of my life out of existence. Starting fresh. I am one of those people, stuck in a rut in my twenties, in a mid life crises twenty years too soon. The thought curls a bitter smile at my lips. I need something stronger than this, i need to be very, _very_ drunk, i think. The smell of sweat fills my nose as i approach the bar, the closer i get the more pungent, ( i have to repress a gag) i slip into a stool, wedged between two very large, very foul women. Each of them is perched on the edge of their seat, vying for the attention of the young bartender, the sweat drenching his upper lip tells me they have been harassing him for a while. I smile sweetly, i can feel how false it looks, the way the corners of my mouth waver like flags in the wind, but i cannot bring myself to care.

"Give me the strongest thing you have on the menu- before you try, i don't care what's in it." I croon, my voice slips out like gravel, just as fumbling and awkward in it's tumble past my lips.

I retreat to my corner, wondering, idly why i decided to come here if i didn't want to dance, to socialize, it is almost more pathetic than locking myself away, drowing my sorrows in a bottle of wine and a gallon of ice cream. I suppose i thought i would try, that something would happen, but i should know better- this is my life not a story book. I don't get a beautiful man to sweep me off of my feet, to whisk me away into a life of grand splendor- to grant my wishes with loves true kiss. I take to watching him again, committing even the most minute of his movements to memory, his features. He is gold, gold, gold, a beautiful golden boy, perfect aesthetically, the most beautiful man i have ever laid eyes on i think. One thing ruined that, however, his mouth. I have heard enough whispers to know that jace herondale is a golden boy with a foul, black-hold of a heart. And i know that i am better off keeping my distance ( i fool myself into believing he would give me the time of day, _HA_! ), i notice a bruises paints his cheekbone plum, in the neon glow it looks menacing and black, a smudge erasing one of his eyes from existence. He still looks beautiful. I've tried to draw him over the course of the past few weeks, ( as creepy as that may sound.. ) but to no avail, there is something about him that i cannot capture no matter how i try. The quirk of his mouth never exude's the confidence that it does in real life, i can never mix the right shades to match his hair, instead i sit miserably, smearing the gold paint between my fingers.

This time, he lifts his head, and his eyes search the room, roaming and predatory, they land on me. I stop breathing, anticipating even the next twitch of his fingers. I can tell he is not a man that wastes his time considering decisions he is going to make, he just makes them. it is that simple for him. I wish it was that simple for me. A smile, focusing all of the sun's radiance and warmth is focused on me alone as he seats himself across from my, stance casual, arms braced against his knees as he leans carefully closer. His head tilts, curiously, his smile fixated radiantly on his face ( i can feel the resentment of every woman around bombarding me, searing my skin, my cheeks flush pretty pink. ).

"Hi, sweetheart- " His voice is something to be treasured, to be played time and time again, ambrosia drips from every turn of his tongue.

I interrupt him before he can say another word, i find, i think i like him better in theory, from far, far away. "First of all- do not ever- call me sweetheart. I'm not one of your little lap dogs. That voice, that tilt of your head. It won't work on me, do not pass go, do not collect $200." I reply, curt, clipped.

His smile grows impossibly larger, "Ah- what a big bite for such a little girl, where's your mother? I can't believe she left you alone in this big bar."

He sounds surprised, his doe-eyed stare is genuine, almost sweet in it's concern. It makes me want to vomit. I can feel the sneer spreading like wild-fire across my lips, i can feel my rage rising like a tidal wave, it threatens to swallow me whole, drag me under kicking and screaming.

"Yeah- really original, i **totally** haven't heard that one before." I color my voice something sweet, something crooning and purring, honey stains my breath, babys-breath sprouts in my throat.

I'm starting to resent that million dollar smile. How can anyone fall for that? It's plastic, cheap, undeniably false. "Do me a favor and screw off- you know what, never mind. Fuck you very much, you ruined a perfectly good night." I rise in a flourish, brushing dirt that isn't there from my jeans, abandoning my half empty glass on the table.

"For the record, I was the best part of your night." I pull on my jacket, shrugging my shoulders higher, making myself smaller under his scrutiny, i leave in a hurry. Bastard.


End file.
